


The Aftermath Affect

by teenageziam



Category: One Direction
Genre: 2017, Alternate Universe - Future, POV Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-05
Updated: 2013-09-05
Packaged: 2017-12-25 17:21:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/955731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenageziam/pseuds/teenageziam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 2015, One Direction experienced a horrible accident.<br/>Two years later, One Direction is no longer a band.<br/>Two years later, they're still trying to get over the aftermath.<br/>Two years later, there are only four of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Aftermath Affect

It is a Sunday, the fourth one of the month.  
The seventh time we've celebrate together, just the five of us.  
The seventh time we've all traveled to the backs of our closets, throwing old shoes, ties, and objects containing crazy memories from drunken nights, parties, and one night stands across the room. All in a search to find our favorite shirts.  
The seventh time we've all left our phones at home and stayed together all day-- talking, smiling, laughing, joking, teasing, and telling stories together.  
It was our third time celebrating with only four people.  
It was our third time pretending like there was still five of us.  
It was our third time pretending like we were still a band.

Everyday of the year we carry on normal lives of four normal friends. We all had different jobs and lived in different cities. I, for one, had had achieved my second dream of becoming a drama teacher.

But there was one day of the year where we all gathered together, but not as friends, as band mates. As brothers. And that day, so happened to be today.

July 23rd, 2017.  
Seven years ago on this day, One Direction was formed.

Now, we don't produce music. Not with only four of us. None of us have gone anywhere near a recording studio since the accident in 2015. One Direction would not go on with only four members.

We were all still friends, though. Friendship was the one thing that wasn't broken two years ago on that day. If anything, it became stronger.

Despite the location of our homes, we all traveled to London on the special day. Wearing our favorite shirts and bearing our favorite memories.

Today I wore my classic white shirt with the simple blue stripes, paired with red chinos and whatever TOMS I owned at the moment. I always made sure that my hair was long enough to sweep to the side and into the style he referred to as "fringe". It was always his favorite.

Liam wore his plaid shirt, the one blue, red, and white stripes. After the accident, he managed to change his hairstyle, yet again. This time he went back to curls. Although he Denys it, I know it's because of him.

Zany, of course, had on his varsity jacket. The blue and red one with the ZM embroidered on the left chest. It was a gift from him for his twentieth birthday.

Niall had on plain red polo. Despite the muscles he had grown from the last time he wore the shirt, he always managed to squeeze it onto his torso just for him because he once told him that red shirts "just matched" with his scruffy blond, but partly brunette at the roots, hair. It did not make sense, but we always went along with what he said.

And of course, Harry had on his simple white V-neck. It was always his favorite shirt.

 

We all sat on a grassy mound, listening to Niall talk about the photo shoot we once did at a pool, and how we had been ordered to simultaneously jump into the pool. In the end Niall was the only one who jumped, wearing his clothes, leaving our stylists in a fit of annoyance as the searched the set for another outfit, seeing as we had to retake the photo so we were all jumping, and Niall couldn't be wearing soggy clothes if the rest of us weren't.

As he told the stories, adding in every detail of the lecture he eared from Caroline and Lou, Niall softly plucked at the strings of his guitar, playing easy chords and creating a simple and soothing tune.

He claims that he doesn't play anymore, except on the twenty third. "It remind me too much of him", he'd always say. But the rest of us knew he was lying. It was no secret that late at night he'd take out the guitar he bought, just a few days before the accident, and ended up naming it after him. It was the only explanation of why he could still, perfectly, carry a simple, or extremely complicated tune, at such ease. But this is Niall we're talking about. Sometimes, I don't believe he could go hours without playing the guitar. No matter how many memories it would recall, and how much pain they would cause.

And when he stopped playing, and put the guitar down next to him when he reached the part of the story where Niall and him played a prank on the cameraman. His fingers danced at the hem of the tight polo as he would occasionally tug at the ends, trying to loosen it; uncomfortable wearing the shirt, and uncomfortable talking about him.

I think we all have that problem, mentioning him. Sometimes it brought pain, other times sadness, and occasionally happiness. We were all affected differently.

As Niall's voice became smaller, and began to crack, and as he turned his head away from us, ashamed of his tears, Liam would grip his shoulder tightly, and reassuringly, then would proceed to slowly rub small circles on his back. Niall laid his head on Harry, not wanting to continue.

Liam began to pick up the story. Ending it, and starting the next one. Liam always tried to stay strong on this certain day. His stories would be the longest, and he could tell the most, but eventually the memories of him would be too much, and he'd have to stop. His hands would reach towards the back of his neck, nervously rubbing it, and pulling the small hairs out of old habit. His eyes would get a far off, glazed look, and then he'd look down, clearing his throat, and gesture for me to continue.

It was at this time, that I would normally drop the subject of stories and share a joke, normally one of his favorites. It would break the sour mood and sullen looks. Especially when we all hear Harry's laughter. We'd stay silent, and cherish the moment. It was times like that we all believed things were back to normal, but wondered if we would all be on our way to a mad house soon, because it was also this certain day that drove us mental.

Now Zayn, he never talked much before the accident, and still doesn't now. He preferred to listen, but there were certain times that he would scream out something and begin to chat away, fforgetting that moment before, he had been utterly silent.

His eyes used to be a gorgeous honey brown, almost a deep gold. Now, they somewhat resembled that color, but they were lighter, as if all the happiness they used to contain had been taken, and all that was left was an empty color. But still, they managed to be breathe taking, now resembling a light gold-- like sunlight shining through a glass of whiskey.

But still, his eyes were rarely seen. His head was always down, or his eyes were closed as he listened closely to whatever anyone had to say, only answering if necessary, and then, still speaking in a barely audible tone.

I believe that besides those special occasions that he looked at you close enough, and you could see his eyes, paper was the only thing that got to enjoy the sight. The only one who gets to listen to his thoughts, hear his voice, and know who he is, is paper. All day, he stays locked in his house, drawing and writing, nothing else. He has always enjoyed both, but it was as if it was all he knew how to do now. The floors of every room where littered with paper-- blank, written on, drawn on, crumbled, folded, it was all paper. His house is a mess, his floors are a mess, Zayn is a mess. No matter how many times he whispers, and try's to deny it.

If I could go back, I would save him, I would make sure the accident never occurred.

I would have been a better friend. I would have paid more attention to him. I would have noticed that he had been acting different. I would have noticed that his appetite changed. I would have noticed that he hasn't eaten breakfast that morning, or dinner the night before, or lunch before that, or breakfast, or hardly anything at all. I would have noticed that he always talked about his weight. I would have noticed his comments that mentioned he needed to lose a few pounds, when he didn't need to at all. I would have noticed that he was exercising more. I would have noticed that his size became smaller and smaller through the tour. I would have noticed that his clothes became baggy, when there was no longer another size, smaller than the one he was at the moment for his height.

I would have noticed that he was walking slow, that morning.  
I would have noticed that he had said he was dizzy.  
I would have noticed that he began to trip over his feet.  
I would have noticed the his eyes started to flutter as he fought for consciousness.  
I would have noticed when he lost his balance.  
I would have noticed when he gave up, and fainted.  
I would have noticed that he fell.  
I would have noticed that his body was about to collapse on the side of the road.  
I would have noticed that a car was coming.  
I would do anything, to save him from getting hit.  
I would do anything to save him from dying.

I would to anything, to save Harry.

But I could not do any of that, and I had to learn to live with it.

So every year the four of us would gather at his grave stone, wear our favorite old favorite shirts, tell our favorite memories, and quietly sing a few songs.

Every year Niall would lean on Harry's gravestone as he began to cry.

Every year Liam would lose his strength, and need an rock, instead of being one.

Every year, Zayn became more quiet than usual.

Every year, I told a joke and we all heard you laugh, even if we didn't admit it to each other, and thought we were crazy.

Ever year, I stayed behind, after all the boys left, and talked to you, quietly, about anything and everything.

I would always leave one of your favorite white V-necks laying on the grass next to your grave, because I kept all of them. Every single one.

I would always think it was raining because tears fell so hard, and so fast, that I could not believe it was my eyes that were letting water droplets fall.

I would always wish that the grave in front of me said another name. Any name but yours. I did not want to see 'Harry Edward Styles' etched into a grave stone when I was still young.

I wish that there was another gravestone, next to yours.

I wished it also had a name etched into it.

But I wished it was mine.

Sometime, I wished my name was on a grave stone next to yours. Peacefully sitting next to you, as if we were home sitting on our designated chairs, quietly reading our favorite books and enjoying the silence.

Sometimes, I wished it was just there:

Louis William Tomlinson.

 

Because I hate life without him.

I hate life without Harry.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for any errors! I didn't take much time to edit it.


End file.
